Y(our) New Normal
by 08182001
Summary: A devastating injury can change everything. Whether that change is for good or ill may depend on who sticks with you. A Pezberry story, told twenty years in the future.
1. Chapter 1 - Prologue

Friday, July 14, 2034 - near Washington, DC

The room was full … which wasn't saying much as the room wasn't all that large. The base hospital had ordered these 14 patients and their spouses, family, or significant others to report to here, after completing some basic physical therapy. Most of the patients were amputees, though a few were paraplegic or quadriplegic. The hospital staff had called it therapy … and, frankly, most of the people were curious. The room was set-up with comfortable chairs and wide aisles. Most had expected a lecture hall set-up, which was, of course, the standard for military courses. A few had feared the dreaded circle like some sort of support group. Instead, it was more like a rec or home theater room.

On the wall, a large television screen played a set of pictures on a loop. They were obviously pictures of a family: two boys and a girl, playing separately in some, together in others. Occasionally, a woman with long brown hair would be standing off to the side. But, in one or two of the photos, she was front and center; the kids clustered around her. It was a beautiful family, but everyone wondered what the purpose was. Once everyone was settled in the room, the final family photo froze, the brunette forever smiling at the camera while one of the boys fidgeted on her lap. The other boy and the girl were gathered around, but it was strange. The girl was standing next to her mother, but the boy was a few feet to the left and separated from the rest of the group.

"They are beautiful kids, right," asked a voice from the back of the room, startling everybody. The brunette from the pictures had silently entered the room and started walking to the front. She was beautiful in an unconventional way and knew how to dress. She wore a tight sleeveless black turtleneck that accentuated her ample bust and a short checkered skirt with black knee boots. If you looked closely, you might notice the laugh lines around her eyes and a few strands of grey mixed into the brown. She walked to the front of the room, the 4-inch heels on her boots clicking on the hardwood as she reached for the TV screen, pointing to the girl.

"That's Evelyn Sarah. She's 12, going on 34." That elicited a chuckle from a couple of people. Pointing to the boy on the left, she said, "That's Jorge. He's 15 and named after his grandpa. The little one in my lap is Daniel. He'll be 6 next week. Each one is talented, and they make me proud every day."

She paused, her eyes sweeping over the room.

"But, that's not why you're here. Is it? You're here because your doctors ordered you to be here. You were told to bring your spouse or your girlfriend or, in a couple of cases, mom or dad. And you probably showed up grudgingly because … hey, at least for now, you're still in the military … and you go where they order you to go." Several eyes had looked down at the floor at this last part. Everyone in this room knew that it was just a matter of time before they were discharged and sent home. For most of them, home is now a foreign and scary place. Certainly not the warm and inviting refuge they left when they deployed.

"Now I know what you're thinking … What does this lady with her perfect body and working limbs know about what I'm going through? More than might think. Oh sure, hundreds of soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines have passed through this program. But, that's not where I got my education on your challenges. My education has been of a much more personal kind. Watch."

The lights dimmed, and the screen went black. When the screen flared back to life, the audience was treated to several short clips of some high school cheerleaders in red and white uniforms with the letters WMHS emblazoned across their chest. The camera was focused on a girl with raven black hair as she tumbled, cartwheeled, and performed several death-defying stunts. The video cut to an awards ceremony where the raven-haired girl stood next to two taller blondes holding a trophy. They were smiling and cheering for the camera. The raven-haired girl then broke away and ran over to a younger-looking version of the woman they had just met. The girls hugged and then the raven-haired girl took the other girl's hand and dragged her over to the cheerleaders.

The video cut again to a backstage practice area where the cheerleaders were warming up. The raven-haired girl ran through a complicated tumbling routine. She was obviously very good. The team's supporters cheered her on. A familiar voice behind the camera could be heard shouting, "Way to go, San. Carmel better be ready to get their asses kicked." The girl who answered to the name San smiled at the camera and then said, "Yeah, Rae. And after I kick their ass, I'm

going to show you just how I celebrate." She wiggled her eyebrows in what was obviously meant to be a sexy way. "Hey, watch this new routine Sue came up with." She ran off to the far side of the practice area while three other girls took different spots on the mat. San ran towards the girls, executing a difficult tumbling pass. On her last flip, her foot landed in one of the cheerleader's hands, which were forming a basket. Those hands pushed up on San's leg and launched her over the base cheerleader and into a flying flip. But, it was immediately evident that something had gone wrong. The two girls waiting to catch her must've misjudged the distance because San flipped right past them and landed off the mat on the hard concrete floor. Her scream was the last thing they heard as the screen went black again.

The lights came back up. Next to the woman they now knew as Rae was an older version of San. She was still strikingly beautiful, even if her hair was more liberally streaked with gray. She wore a skintight black shirt with a plunging neckline and equally tight black jeans tucked into a pair of black over-the-knee boots with similar stiletto heels to Rae's. However, unlike Rae, she wasn't standing. Rather she was seated in a sleek red and white wheelchair with carbon fiber spokes. It wasn't like the ones you got from the hospital. It was smaller, custom fit to the user and without armrests. The footrest was custom as well. Instead of the usual tube, it flared into something like a step. It undoubtedly helped when San wore heels, like today. (Of course, only Rae knew about San's addiction to heels that continued even after her accident.)

"I took my last steps ever at 4:52 p.m. on February 3, 2012. I still remember the sound of my L3 vertebrae shattering from the force of the landing. And I can still picture the terrified look on Rae's face as I told her that I couldn't feel my legs. I remember the feeling of hopelessness and despair that followed." She paused. "I also remember how Rachel held my hand through the ambulance ride, how she was there when I woke up and how she held me as I cried after being told that I'd never walk again. She was there with me through physical therapy. She put up with my bad attitude, all my insults and nasty remarks. She never left me."

"I still remember February 3, 2012, but it's a distant memory. It's not nearly as important as August 21, 2014, my birthday and the day I got engaged. Or the thousands of days in between and since. When I was 17, I never pictured myself as a paraplegic in a wheelchair. But, then I was going to college on a cheerleading scholarship where I would continue to be Head Bitch in Cheer. I figured after a couple of years I would move to LA and become a model or an actress. It's funny how a single moment can change your world."

Rachel, who had held San's hand as she spoke, now stepped forward. "It didn't just change her life either. I was heading to New York and Broadway after graduation. I had already applied to NYADA and had signed up to audition in April. After Santana was paralyzed, my whole world changed, too. Singing and Broadway were my two focuses for the first 16 years of my life … and San tried to force me to continue down that road. She didn't want to hold me back, especially since she truly believed that her life was over. She would be a Lima Loser forever. No Louisville, no LA, no future."

"But the truth is that the world didn't end. San may not have made it to Louisville, but she did go to college and so did I, but not in music theater or the arts as I had planned. I dropped all my applications and applied to the pre-med program at Columbia University instead. New York Presbyterian Hospital has one of the top 10 neurosurgical residency programs in the country and that's what I wanted. Six years after arriving in New York City, I was selected as one of their 18 residents. Today, I am the Chief of Neurosurgery at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore. Santana here had always been into fitness and dancing. It may have taken her a while to get her groove back, but when she did, it was amazing to behold." Rachel gazed adoringly down at her wife of nearly 18 years.

Santana now took over speaking. "Growing up in Lima, Ohio is not easy, especially if you're gay … which I so wouldn't admit before Rachel came along. Now in my senior year, I wasn't just a lesbian, but a paraplegic lesbian. What kind of life is that? Not much of one. Or so I thought. I always had fabulous grades. In fact, Rachel and I were always battling with our friend Quinn for valedictorian. I should have figured out a lot sooner that I was something other than what I always pictured myself as: a good lay and a smokin' hot bitch. My best friend went to Yale and my girlfriend made it into Columbia. I obviously had the brains to go with this bod … it just took me a while to reacquaint myself with the new me. I followed Rae to New York and took some courses at the Borough of Manhattan Community College. The next year, I followed in my girlfriend's footsteps and applied to Columbia myself. I made it through in just three years and then went on to grad school. In the meantime, I married Rae, got pregnant with Jorge, and started my own therapy practice. I specialize in helping those like myself find their self-worth again and realize that they still fit in the picture." The picture which had earlier showed a disjointed family had now changed on the display. Now San was seated in her chair next to Rae, surrounded by their children. All smiles.

By now, the entire room was captivated by their story. The patients themselves didn't look so dark and gloomy. They may not be ready to take on the world, but at least they now had proof of life after disability.


	2. Chapter 2 - Puerto Rican Lullaby

Friday, July 14, 2034 - Churchville, Harford County, Maryland

Orientation Day at Santana's practice was always cathartic. Most of the patients came in believing that life was over and left with a glimmer of hope. Or as Santana more crudely put it, "They're not gonna off themselves because I am the HBIT - Hottest Bitch in Therapy." Orientation Day was where Santana broke the ice with the patients and their families. This group consisted of 10 men and four women, all combat veterans. Of the 14, 11 were amputees; six of those multiple amputees. Two of the other three were paraplegic. The final one, a 22-year female combat air controller, was a quadriplegic.

Rachel only visited on Orientation Day and the initial appointment with each patient and their family. She was a neurosurgeon after all. Her mission was to put their bodies back together as well as she could. It was Santana who would put their minds back together. Therefore, Rachel only participated in the therapy sessions as asked for by the families. Even then, she really only worked with the spouses and significant others to make them understand the challenges associated with living with a recently-disabled individual or helped the patients themselves understand all of the medical stuff (terminology, drugs, treatments, you name it). While Rachel really liked surgery and the hospital, she loved watching her wife work.

Like she had today. Now, they were returning home early. Orientation Day usually ended by lunchtime. Santana had earned her Master's in Occupational Therapy from Columbia. Occupational therapy was all about helping a person with a disability adapt to the world around them. Since Columbia, Santana had also earned a second Master's from Towson University, this one in Clinical Psychology. She had built her practice on the premise that, for those with a recently acquired disability, OT was as much mental as it was physical. Most of orientation was spent driving this point home to the patients. Hence, Santana and Rachel's unique opening presentation.

After orientation was over and the patients had left, Santana would close up the office and try to get home before their children invaded. They rarely got any alone time with three kids around, so they grabbed what they could when they could. Today, they made the drive up 95 from Forest Glen and had lunch at a little bistro in Bel Air before returning to their home.

The 11-acre lot on Glenville Road had once been a farm and had stunning views of Harford County. The couple's 6000 square foot house, built all on a single level to make it easier for Santana, was situated deep on the property and sited to take advantage of the vista. Santana and Rachel had moved here in 2020 when Rachel joined the staff at Johns Hopkins. The home had been featured in Country Living and a few local real estate magazines, mainly because it was the first home designed by the up-and-coming Quinn Masterson. Quinn had majored in art history at Yale. There she fell in love with Rory Masterson, an architect, and together they had formed the design firm of Masterson and Masterson. While Rory handled commercial projects, Quinn liked to focus on smaller projects like bus shelters, village green spaces, and especially, disability-friendly residences.

Santana whipped Rachel's Kona blue 2034 Ford Mustang Shelby GT500 into the long driveway and squealed to a halt in front of their house. Santana wore a satisfied smirk as she opened the driver's side door. The fastback was a two-seater, so she had to wait for Rachel to unload her chair from the trunk. "Why do you always insist on driving my car," Rachel asked as she attached one of the wheels to the chair.

Rachel had finished assembling the chair and brought it alongside the car.

"Because it's fun to watch you get flustered," Santana answered smugly as she situated her legs properly in the chair. Even after more than two decades together, she still liked to push Rachel's buttons (though it was now more in jest and maybe a little that she'd get lucky that night). Santana also had a Mustang GT, but her's was a Magnetic gray convertible with a back seat.

It was a well-known fact that the Lopez women were addicted to flashy vehicles. The family car was a still-stylish 2024 Pepperdust Metallic Buick Enclave with a lot of miles under the hood. While it was roomy and easily fit the whole family and the back had plenty of room, even with Santana's chair, it was responsive and fun to drive. All three cars were outfitted with hand controls for Santana and the Buick was heavily modified so that Santana could get in and out more easily. Both women had developed an affinity for muscle cars, but living in New York for several years had given Rachel new respect for motorcycles. She'd had a moped when they lived in New York. Once she and Santana had moved out into the country, those little mopeds had morphed into speedy racing bikes like the Kawasaki Ninja H2 in the garage.

To anyone who had known Rachel in high school, the image of a (faux) leather-clad Rachel racing down backcountry roads at nearly 80 miles per hour (or faster if she was at a track or drag strip) would've seemed crazy. If someone had suggested such a thing to her classmates, they would've asked what the dude was on because he had to be high. Santana's accident had changed Rachel's sensibilities in a lot of ways. Some people reacted to such a tragedy by becoming even more careful and this was the response of some of their classmates, like Quinn and Tina. Others react by becoming even less risk-averse. Rachel and Santana knew (for a fact) that one little slip-up could change your life forever. Therefore, you needed to live life like there was no tomorrow.

Santana rolled to the front door, followed by Rachel. Once inside, they set their purses on the side table by the door and Rachel called out, "We're home. Anybody here." The pitter-patter of feet came from the other side of the house, followed by a laugh. "Mommy, Mama." Little Daniel came running down the hall, his arms open wide to embrace his mothers.

"Ven aca, Daniel, mi hombrecito," Santana said, smiling back at him and reaching out to hug him. Daniel loved being wheeled around by Santana. Of their three children, Daniel was the one who rejected the stroller in favor of his mama's lap. Rachel put her arms around both Santana and Daniel, making a big group hug. Daniel just laughed and reached out for Rachel with his left arm. Santana looked up to see Graciela coming down the hall. Graciela was Santana's second cousin. She had been born and raised in Puerto Rico, but came to help when Daniel was born. Being outnumbered three kids to two adults was never a good idea; even less so when one of those parents was confined to a wheelchair. Santana had hated the thought of needing help to raise their children, but couldn't imagine living without Graciela. It helped that Graciela treated Santana like an equal.

"Graciela, han vuelto a casa Evelyn y Jorge," Santana asked.

"Not yet, S. Evelyn's riding lesson is at four and Jorge went with some friends to see the IronBirds," Graciela replied.

"The IronBirds don't play until seven this evening. What's he really doing," asked Rachel.

"Well, Rylee Woods picked him up," Graciela said, waggling her eyebrows. Rylee and Jorge both went to Aberdeen High School. She was a year ahead of Jorge and would be a junior when school started in September. She was also captain of the cheerleader squad and a midfielder on the soccer team. She had befriended Jorge last year and the two had steadily been growing closer ever since. Once Rylee got her driver's license in May, the two had become inseparable.

"Please tell me there were others with him," Santana pleaded. Graciela just shook her head and Santana muttered, "Esa zorra mejor no lastimar a mi pequeño." Santana was very protective of her kids. She might have been overcompensating for her own misspent youth.

Rachel placed her hands over Daniel's ears. "Enséñale a jurar y estás durmiendo en el sofá."

Rachel spoke fluent Spanish, although she rarely used it around the house. It reminded Santana of the first time that Rachel had used Spanish on her.

* * *

Monday, April 18, 2011 - Brice Avenue, Lima, Ohio

Santana slid under the water of the showerhead. The scalding hot water felt good after yet another restless night. The water sluiced down her face and that was good, since it hid her tears. Santana had been an empty shell since Brittany broke up with her. It seemed like all she did anymore was eat, sleep, and cry constantly. Brittany had been the best thing in her confusing, fucked up life to this point. It's not like Lima had much to offer her. Lima was the type of town people escaped if they could. Poverty, crime, and unemployment were high and the Lopez's were one of the few Hispanic families in town. Her mom worked as a nurse at St. Rita's and her dad was rarely home, since he drove a tractor-trailer and did over the road trucking.

The Lopez family home wasn't in the best part of town (hence, her claim to living in Lima Heights Adjacent - not a real neighborhood name, but hey the idiots at school didn't know that) and the home was a little cramped with 3 bedrooms and 2 tiny bathrooms, but they owned it (which was more than you could say for most of Lima). In their time at McKinley, Santana never brought anybody over; she was too embarrassed. Even Brittany hadn't come over. Most of the kids at school (Quinn, Brittany, even Rachel) lived in the nicer houses just outside the town limits. Santana's abuela lived in the apartments four blocks from McKinley and that's where she was always dropped off.

In fact, that's where Brittany thought she lived. Santana's mom worked late shifts, so Santana often slept in the guest bedroom if she couldn't get home. Once she got her license and her dad bought her a car, she would drive Britt home and then drive into Lima to her own bedroom.

Thinking of Brittany brought back the break-up and, of course, more tears. Maybe she'd just sit in the hot shower for as long as the water lasted and maybe her mom would let her skip school … for the third time in the last two weeks. Yeah, probably not happening. But, she could hope. The break-up had been bad, even if it wasn't public. Brittany wasn't gay like Santana, but bisexual, which would've been alright if Santana had been prepared to publicly declare her affection for the blonde. That wasn't happening. Not so long as Santana was a Cheerio and Quinn's second-in-command. And it certainly wasn't happening so long as she still lived in Lima, Ohio.

" _San, I want to talk to you about something?" Santana paused and waited for Brittany to continue. "I really like it when we make out and stuff."_

" _I really like that, too," said Santana, wondering where this was going._

" _But, we never talk about our feelings."_

" _Why should we?"_

 _Brittany frowned at her, "Because with feelings, it's better."_

" _Are you kidding? It's better when it doesn't involve feelings. And I think it's better when it doesn't involve eye contact."_

" _I don't know … I guess I just don't know how I feel about us," Brittany stated. Clearly, she wanted San and herself to be an 'us.'_

" _Look, let's be clear here," Santana replied. "I'm not interested in any labels … unless it's on something I shoplifted."_

" _I don't know, Santana. I think we should talk to somebody, like an adult. This relationship is really confusing for me."_

 _This conversation was irritating Santana. "Breakfast is confusing for you," she said, condescendingly._

 _Brittany ignored the tone in Santana's voice. "Well, sometimes it's sweet; sometimes it's salty. I mean what if I have eggs for dinner. What is it?"_

 _Despite what some folks might have thought, there were times when Brittany was absolutely brilliant. Like now, Brittany was really asking whether Santana was sweet or salty. She wanted to define this relationship … and that was something that Santana just wouldn't do._

" _Look, Britt. You know what you mean to me … and you know that I don't do feelings. I know what you want me to do, but I can't."_

" _Why do you care what any else thinks," Brittany asked her seriously now. She had tried coy. Now she would try direct. "You are the hottest bitch in this building. You could have anyone, guy or girl. It makes me sad. I love you and I want everyone else to know."_

 _Santana promptly panicked "Look, Britt. We have sexy times together. But, that's all there is … and all there ever will be." As she saw Brittany's eyes fill with tears, she got angry. "No! Brittany, you don't get to cry over this! You told me that you understood! This is just what it is. No labels and no feelings."_

" _But, San, I want more."_

" _Dammit, Britt, I don't," Santana finally snapped. "I don't want more. You're a great fuck and you satisfy this itch I have, but I don't love you!"_

 _Tears were flowing freely from Brittany's eyes by now. Brittany looked down at Santana and said with finality, "Then this relationship … or whatever this was ends here. I don't want to scratch your itch. I might be stupid, Santana, but I'm not an idiot." Santana reached out to cup Brittany's cheek, but Brittany slapped her hand away. "Don't! Just leave me alone!" With that, she turned and ran away from Santana._

That had been three weeks ago … and things had gone downhill from there. Quinn had approached her about what happened. Santana was still reeling, upset, and … afraid of admitting the truth. She told Quinn to leave her alone. When Quinn wouldn't quit, the two had fought and not just one of their little slap fights either. Well, Quinn did slap Santana, but Santana reeled off and punched Quinn as hard as she could. The result was a broken jaw for Quinn and punishment from Coach Sue when she found out.

Sue ran practice while Quinn sat on the sideline with her jaw wired shut, a huge purple bruise covering the left side of her face. Sue made Santana run laps for the next three practices to the point where she puked her guts out all over the field. Her legs and arms were jello, so she sucked at each practice. Coach demoted her to the JV squad by the fourth practice. It was humiliating, since she was the only junior on the squad … and she wasn't even captain. That honor belonged to a sophomore named Krissy Francis, a bleach blonde bimbo who had the coordination of a newborn fawn.

Santana had quit last week. Today would be her first day out of a Cheerio's uniform since she started at McKinley. She wore a red turtleneck and long baggy jeans with a pair of black flats. With a sigh, she hoisted her backpack on her shoulder and walked out to her car. If she was lucky, she could slink into school quietly without anyone noticing. She was halfway across the parking lot when she noticed Rachel Berry. Rachel was looking hot today. She had on a loose yellow skirt and white spaghetti strap shirt that clung just right. She topped it off with a pair of low heels. The two girls realized that they were both staring at each other when a car horn sounded behind Rachel. Both girls snapped out of it and Santana hurried into school, leaving Rachel looking after her with a bewildered expression.

Santana walked through the front doors of McKinley and was immediately smacked in the face with multiple slushies. She tried wiping the ice-cold goop from her eyes, but as she did she heard Azimo Adams call out, "You're not a Cheerio anymore, bitch! Now you get what you deserve!" She felt the lime green more than she saw it as he dumped it on her head. They all ran off. Principal Figgins may have been a chump, but they all knew that he'd have no choice but to suspend them all if they were caught. The hit and run tactics of slushie throwers, of course, just made it worse for the recipient, since they knew that no one would be punished. Santana just stood there, cringing with a look of shock on her face as the green ice slid down her face.

Suddenly, Rachel's voice whispered in her ear, "No dejes que te vean llorar." Just as quickly as she came, Rachel walked away. But, she looked back over her shoulder at Santana and gave her a smile and a thumbs up. It gave Santana just enough courage to snap back into action and walk to the restroom in the Science wing. There she locked the stall door, slumped against the far wall, sank to the floor, and bawled her eyes out.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Rachel came to find Santana in the same bathroom.

"Santana? Are you okay?"

Rachel's questions were met with a sniffle and a hasty, "Go away."

"Santana. If you don't wash the corn syrup out of your hair, it's going to stain. Your clothes are almost certainly already ruined. Come on out and I'll help you."

"GO AWAY, Berry! I swear to God I'll go all Lima Heights on your ass."

"Spare me the crap, Santana. No podías ir a Lima Heights conmigo si lo intentabas."

Those words must've touched off something because Santana had unlatched the door and flew out of the stall within a few seconds. "Crees que eres mejor que yo porque me atacaron hoy. No eres más que la mierda en mis zapatos elegantes y asequibles."

Rachel had clearly been surprised by Santana's appearance. She looked a fright. Her clothes were a rainbow hodgepodge of various slushie colors and flavors. She still had corn syrup in her hair and her mascara was smudged. Her eyes were red from crying and her nose was running. Santana took a moment of vicious comfort as Berry stepped back against the sinks during her outburst. But, Rachel rallied quickly.

"Welcome to my world now, Satan. No Cheerio uniform to protect you and no Brittany to keep the bullies from exacting bloody vengeance on you for the rest of the year. So, no, I really don't mind if you go all Lima Heights on me. In fact, Santana, do it. Be the bitch we all know you are."

All at once, Santana's tough girl facade broke and she threw her arms around Rachel, buried her face in her shoulder, and broke down for the second time that day. Her legs started to give out and Rachel suddenly was holding Santana upright.

"Shit," she breathed, clutching at the blubbering girl and slowly lowered both of their bodies to the floor. Rachel cradled Santana against her chest and just rocked back and forth.

Ten minutes and a lot of transferred slushie later, Rachel finally started to get Santana calmed down … or maybe the raven-haired girl had finally run out of tears. Rachel did what she did best when she needed to express herself; she sang:

 _Una mariposita, que del cielo bajó_

 _Con sus alas extendidas_

 _Y en el pico una floor._

Santana sniffed and ran her now-blue sleeve over her face, wiping at her eyes and nose as Rachel sang the next verse:

 _¿Para quién son las flores?_

 _Si no son para mí._

 _Ay mamita del alma_

 _Yo me muero por ti._

Santana's lips curled into a soft smile as she recognized the tune and joined in for the last verse:

 _Cuando venga papito_

 _Se lo voy a decir_

 _Que esa mariposita_

 _No me deja dormir_

 _¡Dormir!_

"My abuela used to sing that to me at bedtime. Where'd you learn it," asked Santana.

"Let's just say that I learned it in case a person that I really admire ever needed a pick me up," Rachel replied cryptically.

* * *

Friday, July 14, 2034 - Churchville, Harford County, Maryland

It wouldn't be until later that Santana would realize the truth. And, then, wow, did the fireworks start. But, that was a memory for another time.

Santana leaned down to whisper in Daniel's ear. "Vamos, mi pequeño niño. Vamos a llevar a mami a la cocina." Daniel let out a little shriek as Santana pumped her arms vigorously on the wheels of her chair. Daniel clung to his mom's neck with the biggest smile as Santana sped across the room in her wheelchair towards the kitchen.

Behind her, Rachel just chuckled and followed behind with Graciela bringing up the rear. Dinner prep awaited the women and then maybe, if she and Santana were lucky, they could get Graciela to take Daniel and Evelyn to the movies. A little peace and quiet was always appreciated after Orientation Day.

* * *

Translations:

Ven aca, Daniel, mi hombrecito - Come here, Daniel, my little man

Graciela, han vuelto a casa Evelyn y Jorge? - Graciela, have Evelyn and Jorge come home?

Esa zorra mejor no lastimar a mi pequeño - That bitch better not hurt my little boy

Enséñale a jurar y estás durmiendo en el sofá. - You teach him to swear and you're sleeping on the couch.

No dejes que te vean llorar - Don't let them see you cry.

No podías ir a Lima Heights conmigo si lo intentabas. - You couldn't go Lima Heights on me if you tried.

Crees que eres mejor que yo porque me atacaron hoy. No eres más que la mierda en mis zapatos elegantes y asequibles. - You think you're better than me because they picked on me today. You're nothing but the shit on my stylish yet affordable shoes.

Vamos, mi pequeño niño. Vamos a llevar a mami a la cocina. - Come on, my little boy. Let's race Mommy to the kitchen.

The song is a Puerto Rican lullaby - Una Mariposita.


	3. Chapter 3 - Past Is Prologue

Friday, July 14, 2034 - Churchville, Harford County, Maryland

Rachel and Santana often shared cooking duties in the large disability-friendly kitchen. Today, however, Rachel had taken charge of the cooking duties - preparing a lovely zoodle dish with pesto sauce. While Santana wasn't strictly vegan like her wife, she had learned to like (even love) some of the vegan-friendly dishes that Rachel prepared. All three of their children ate whatever was prepared and none of them were vegan like Rachel, though Evelyn was definitely leaning vegetarian.

Afterward, Graciela had indeed taken Evelyn and Daniel to the movies. The smirk on her face as she not-so-reluctantly gathered the youngest Lopezes and headed out in the Enclave was firmly in place. Graciela had made sure to mention that they would be home late, since she was certain that Daniel would want ice cream after the show. Jorge likely wouldn't show before midnight, if he and Rylee really did end up at the IronBirds game. So, Rachel and Santana had the whole house to themselves.

When Quinn had laid out the design of their house, she had intentionally designed a separate master wing. Quinn knew that Rachel and Santana were very hands-on parents, but she also knew that one or sometimes both of the women needed time away from the rest of the family to keep themselves grounded. When Jorge and Evelyn were younger that had been difficult, but Daniel's arrival had brought with it Graciela. That, coupled with the age of their older children, made it easier to spend some quality time apart.

Quinn had essentially laid out the house in an H. On one side were the kids' bedrooms and the guest room, which now belonged to Graciela. There were two bathrooms, one of which conveniently was placed between Graciela's and Evelyn's bedrooms and the other between the two boys. In the center, sat the open main part of the house - a large open plan living room/dining room led onto a spacious kitchen with wide aisles for Santana's wheelchair. Out back, a large courtyard connected the two wings and gave the family lots of room to roam.

The other side consisted of Rachel and Santana's master bedroom suite - a large bedroom with a queen-size bed, a small home theater space, and a large workout area. Even at 40, the two women were obsessed with fitness. Rachel was still queen of the elliptical, although she had added yoga and pilates to her regimen as well. What would've surprised most people was the fact that Santana rode a stationary bike over a 25-mile course every day. They would've been surprised because it wasn't a handbike, like she used when she rode with the kids.

In 2025, Rachel had invented and patented what had been intended as a solution to paraplegia. It was a small bit of microcircuitry that was intended to bridge the gap in the spinal cord. As it turned out, it's functionality was limited, but they had managed to program it for the bike. Today, that little bit of machinery helped paraplegics and even some quadriplegics retain muscle mass and bone density. This was crucial to avoiding problems later in life and helped doctors hold back on medications that could have bad side effects.

Tomorrow, Rachel and Santana would be back at it, but tonight they simply cuddled in each other's arms, watching some mindless television show. Rachel snored lightly on Santana's shoulder as she stroked her wife's hair. Santana smiled as she realized that Rachel had always done this to her, leaving her the only person awake late at night. In fact, Rachel had done the exact same thing the first time they had started to let their guards around each other.

* * *

Saturday, April 23, 2011 - Oriole Trail, Lima, OH

Santana took a deep breath, stepped up, and rang the doorbell.

The girl who answered the door was almost foreign to her. It had been a while since she had seen Rachel outside of school in normal clothes. (For some reason, she always remembered the girl in those god-awful sweaters and hideous argyle skirts.) Santana and Rachel had gone to the same middle school - North Middle School on West Street, so she knew that she had more stylish clothes. Rachel currently wore tight-fitting jeans and a black and white patterned sweater with a pair of low-heel ankle boots. The sweater was comfortable looking, modest but still fitted enough to show the swell of Rachel ample cleavage.

Santana hadn't dressed quite so nicely. She wore a pair of purple track leggings and a white t-shirt with a scoop neck. She felt her face heat and looked away shyly. It's not like she had intentionally dressed down; she simply hadn't interacted with Rachel Berry outside of school for a very long time. "Sorry, I didn't realize we were going out … I can leave … I mean …." Santana never sputtered, but something about seeing every curve in Rachel's butt and legs had rendered Santana insensate.

"Calm down, Satan. It's fine," Rachel retorted. Normally, being called Satan did nothing to the fierce Latina, but, for some reason, when Rachel used the term Santana felt shame. That was a new feeling for her. "We don't have to go anywhere. I just … I didn't know what your expectations were. You usually dress so well at school … that I felt like … I don't know … maybe I should put forward a little effort," Rachel finished, looking away just as Santana had earlier.

"OK … well … are you going to invite me in?"

Rachel shook her head to clear the cobwebs. "Oh right. Of course, come on in, Santana."

Stepping inside, she noticed that the small front hall opened onto a huge great room with vaulted ceilings. The bright and airy interior was a lot like Quinn's house but felt more lived in. Rachel led her to the large couch that dominated the near wall. While Rachel flopped down unceremoniously on the right armrest, Santana sat down more gingerly to the left, leaving a huge gap between the girls.

The next few minutes passed in silence with each girl stealing furtive glances at each other.

"I won't bite. You don't have to sit so far away," Rachel told her.

"I don't want to catch loser from you. I've fallen far enough down the social ladder."

Rachel just smirked at her. "Well, let's see. You're in Glee, an honor roll student, a bitch, and … oh, what am I forgetting? Oh, right. You're gay. You can't … mhmf," she couldn't finish because Santana had clamped her hand over her mouth.

"Don't even go there," Santana told the brunette. "I'm warning you. I didn't come here to be called a dyke by little miss perfect." As the words spilled out, Santana realized that she had just complimented Rachel, albeit in an insulting fashion.

"First of all, dyke? Really? Secondly, Santana, my life is far from perfect. You and Quinn remind me every day that I'm unattractive and undesirable to men. Everybody in Glee merely tolerates me. I don't have any real friends. But, you know what? I ignore all of it. Because I know who I am."

For some reason, that made Santana angrier. She didn't like the fact that Rachel, of all people, was questioning her sexual orientation. "I know who I am. You said it yourself. I'm a bitch. I torture people … you … because I enjoy the power of it. I fuck anything with two legs … and you know what I don't even care. You know why? Because," Santana jabbed her own chest. "I don't feel anything."

Rachel watched as Santana paced the room in front of her. "Is that why you and Brittany broke up?"

Santana stopped, fists clenched at her sides. Her nostrils flared as she took several breaths to calm herself down. She turned and looked straight at Rachel. "She wanted more, but I can't have feelings for girls, Berry. Look at what happened to Kurt. I couldn't let that happen to Brittany."

Rachel closed the distance between them, reaching out to take the other girl's hand. "Hey. I'm sorry I made you sad. I'm not used to avoiding difficult feelings. In case you haven't noticed, I tend to charge headlong into things and I don't always think it through."

Santana took the girl's other hand and looked into Berry's eyes. Rachel's brown eyes were expressive … so like Brittany's. Most folks only saw Brittany at school where she had a glassy look on her face most of the time. But, in private, around the Cheerios, or at Glee, her face lit up and she became much more expressive. Brittany just didn't get school (well, that and she was a little naive about life). Santana smiled sadly at Rachel. The girl deserved friendship and an end to all the crap that she put the other girl through.

"Look, Berry … Rachel. How about we start over? Clean slate. You don't have any friends … neither do I. Why don't we start there? Try friendship on for size."

"OK," replied Rachel, beaming from ear to ear. "Well, then, as your friend, might I suggest that we stop moping around? We have a home theater in the basement. Are you up for a movie?"

"Sure, B … er … Rachel. Let's watch a movie." Santana pulled her towards the basement stairs. Rachel stumbled and fell into Santana. She caught Rachel around the waist and held her up. Electricity shot through her body, just like when she held Brittany. Her eyes met Rachel's and she could see surprise reflected back.

The smaller girl blushed as she detangled herself from Santana. "Wow! You are really strong. I wasn't expecting it."

"Cheerleading and dance … but mostly cheer. Sue is a slave driver, but there's a method to her madness. Every girl needs to be able to handle every position - spotter, base, flyer. And all of the girls need to know each other's tumbling routine. Trust me. Four hours a day … Eight or ten in the summer … and you'll be strong as an ox."

"So, what are you? In cheerleading, I mean," Rachel asked.

"I'm a flyer. The second flyer, I guess. Quinn's the lead flyer. But, my tumbling routines tend to be a bit more complex. Quinn's got better dismounts, though."

While Santana talked, Rachel had placed her hand on the small of the Latina's back to guide her to the staircase, "Honestly, dismounts are cool and all … but the tumbling routines are hot." Rachel suddenly realized what she said and turned beet red.

Santana just smirked, "Careful, Rae. Your gay's showing." The Latina continued down the stairs to the Berry's home theater area. It was nicely furnished with an older loveseat and a couple plush recliners. But, the real star of the room was the new Sony 65 inch LCD HDTV and Blu-ray system. "Damn, Rae. This thing is huge," she said, flopping down on the small sofa.

Rachel approached the other girl shyly, clearly embarrassed by her slip of the tongue. "Can you forget that you heard that?"

"Heard what? You professing that girls jumping around in short skirts arouses you," the Latina teased. Rachel huffed. "Rae, don't worry about it. Your big gay secret is safe with me."

"I'm not gay, Santana. I'm bisexual," she replied, sitting down next to the other girl.

"Like that's any less gay," Santana quipped and then remembering her promise to befriend the girl. "Sorry … old habits."

"It's OK. I guess if I end up with a woman, it'll still be pretty gay." Rachel reached over and grabbed the remote off the side table. "So, what do you want to watch?" She leaned into Santana, turning on the TV.

Santana put her head on Rachel's as she thought. The position just seemed so natural. "You know what? I haven't just watched cartoons in a long time. Not the new ones. The old Warner Brothers ones … you know with the Roadrunner chasing the Coyote," she told Rachel, smiling at the thought.

Rachel smiled at her. "All right. Wile E. Coyote it is."

* * *

Looney Tunes had finished ten minutes ago. Santana looked over and realized that Rachel was out like a light. The girl looked very uncomfortable, head perched on her hand which in turn was resting on the sofa arm. Santana was feeling a little tired herself and Berry did look peaceful. In fact, if Santana were prepared to be honest with herself, Rachel was gorgeous, even asleep.

Watching Rachel sleep, Santana remembered all the times in middle school when she used to help Rachel out and all of the classes they had together. It was before she had really turned into a bitch and that had started with Rachel. The girls all had PE together and the teacher had caught her staring at Rachel's ass. Even then the brunette had preferred short skirts and her PE attire was positively scandalous at times. Needless to say, Santana had been chewed out by her teacher who had told her in no uncertain terms that she was going to Hell and if she didn't change her ways, she'd have no choice but to contact her parents.

She'd hated that teacher, but she'd done what the woman had said. Deep down Santana knew the truth, but she also knew that she couldn't protect Brittany if she came out. So, she pushed it down, became the world's biggest bitch and became the stereotype of the quintessential high school cheerleader. Suppressing her emotions had only made her crash and burn in spectacular fashion. Maybe Rachel did have a point about knowing who she was. This girl who she had put through the wringer for no other reason than making her feel something in 7th grade.

They were friends now. So, Santana silently vowed that she would stick up for Rachel.

"Corazon de melon, sere tu protectora a partie de ahora." Santana pulled Rachel into her, became her pillow in essence. Rachel just murmured something unintelligible and continued to doze while Santana flipped through the channels.

* * *

Translations:

Corazon de melon, sere tu protectora a partie de ahora. - Melon heart (meaning big-hearted person), I'll be your protector from now on.


End file.
